


Last Night

by solongsun



Category: the GazettE
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 14:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13033449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solongsun/pseuds/solongsun
Summary: Last summer, I dragged you through the hazy streets and thought how good it was to be alive.





	Last Night

Last spring, I held your hand and raced with you through the park.

I threw handfuls of blossom over you until you pushed me down, your grin against my neck, and I remember it like a photograph: my time capsule bride.

Last spring, I held you down and bit your shoulder, kissed your eyelids till you groaned.

Chased you up the hill and let you rub my nose in the darkness; in the delicious night and the smell of crushed grass and living skin.

Smelled the April air with you.

Listened to rain like your quick footsteps on the stairs.

Last spring, I fell in love with you.

 

Last summer, I tangled my legs with yours.

Listened to your hot gasps and licked rivers into place on your body, the valleys of muscle and bone; ran channels with my tongue and fingers and worshipped you like mountains. Slid my fingers into your deepest place and felt the pulse beat inside of you. Stroked you from the inside until you trembled.

Last summer I tripped out onto the steaming streets with you, breathed in the smell of asphalt that'd been sucking up stale heat all day. Kicked boxes in alleyways and ripped off my t-shirt; tugged down your pants. Pushed you into shadows and took that hottest, hardest part of you into my mouth.

Cool mouth. Smooth tongue. Soft lips.

Swallowing.

Made you groan.

Fucked you to the songs from the cars as they passed.

Last summer, I dragged you through the hazy streets and thought how good it was to be alive.

 

Last autumn, I woke up to your hand gripping mine tightly.

Your nails cut crescent-shaped scars into my wrist, four in a row, your thumb urgent against my palm.

I blinked and the world shook so much there were a thousand of you.

Last autumn, you kissed me hotly on the mouth and begged me to run.

Dancing through the dust and crouching in doorways— you gathered a loose handful of photographs that scattered, like confetti, all over the chasms in what used to be the street, and the bricks fell.

Tears collected like a growing darkness at the corners of your eyes.

You didn't make a single sound. The dust seemed like it would never clear.

Last autumn, I heard the sirens of the city become your swan song, and spiral away into the air just as loose and free as birds.

Last autumn, the whole world slipped sideways on its axis. And everything sort of stopped.

And when it started again, it was like it was just pretending.

 

Last winter it was cold, but the air was summer-thick with the smell of new, hot tarmac.

Last winter they were plugging the raw, fresh wounds of the city.

They were hauling away the rubble.

They were letting the dust blow and whirl away on the back of the breeze, and ride away into the clouds like great kites.

Last winter I held your hand and told you jokes until your soft, kind eyes threatened bloody murder.

Last winter I collected bargains and promises, made crazy deals, sold my soul to the devil.

I told you that I loved you. I loved you more for how you took those words and pretended like they could change everything.

Breathed in the smell of hospital linens.

Exchanged weary-eyed nods with harried, overworked nurses.

Did not cry.

Last winter I watched your lovely skin melt down to the shape of your lovely bones.

Watched your quicksilver eyes grow flat as walls.

Last winter I felt you slip those last few inches away from me.

 

On the day of your funeral, it snowed.

I sat and sat until the sky turned dark.

My windows turned to mirrors.

I saw my black eyes and black mouth and black hands, and the shadow of the flurries as it snowed inside my head.

Last winter we put your white ashes in the black ground.

 

Last...

 

Last night, I woke up to the sound of rain.

Sounds like the whole house telling secrets.

You sat on the edge of my bed and traded shapes, back and forth, with the darkness.

Sounds like something crazy:

_When the rain cleared, he came into my room and kissed my hollow throat goodnight_.

Last night, I dreamed of a day when we fought and made up, and you brushed your lips against the steady pulse in my temple and teased, _when you're old and lonely, you'll wish you'd married me_.

 

I do.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written about a year ago. It's a bit of a strange one, maybe. I think there was some kind of natural disaster, like an earthquake, around the time that I wrote it. So that was very much in my mind and in the plot of this, even though it's vague.


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